Bucky is Back
by Mag8889
Summary: How Bucky the Winter Soldier handles his past life coming back to him? What will he do, where will he go? What plays in his heart and mind? A perfect story for women who love to read about tragic, melodramatic anti-heroes :D *Action takes place after the last kicker of Capitan America: Winter Soldier. You know that everyone loves Bucky! *STAY TUNED*
1. The Prologue

Bucky swayed a little in the dim light of a street lamp. That was a little too much for today... He just left the Smithsonian Centre, where he learned more about his... past. Past life.

Civil clothes felt very odd an unnaturally comfortable in the same time. Bucky hissed. His right hand has been healing for a while now but it kept on givinh him an ocassional itches of pain.

Where to go now? What to do? He wished to have a criogenic chamber to sleep the night through, it was the only time where he could feel peace and quiet, in its freezeing embrace... He needed a rest, he needed this icy night, for regeneratinon. His body learned to cooperate with this unstoppable force.

Will his body be able to function without regular freezing? A dark siluette supported itself on the lamp's pole and gasped. The body possibly will handle, but the mind...

Bucky's eyes widened and the nightmare started speeding through his brain in an infinite slideshow of flashbacks. He knew him! He knew Steve Rogers... and before he was assigned to murder him, he was sent to kill... how many? Faces and screams, gasps and begging voices in many languages were there. They came in one, piercing wave and he didn't want to hurt them now, he wanted to calm them down. „I'm sorry... I... didin't know. I'm not who you think I am. Leave me alone!" Bucky really wanted to explain to them!

„Aaaah..." He also wanted to scream, but his chest was stiff and heart started beating like crazy. The man swayed again and landed hard on his butt. It hurt.

Sudden pain cut off the hurricane of thoughts and he realized what just happened. He almost laughed. Almost, with a strange, bitter laugh. But he couldn't because he forgot. He forgot how to smile.

Something warm next to his nose, on his face... He reached with the metal arm. A dim light showed a shiny object on the shiny metalic finger. Tears. Yes, he was human. He could cry. His heart felt like an empty hall, his soul was just a bunch of chaotic self- assurances now. Everything has been wiped and re-installed in him dozens, and dozens, and dozens of times. There was so little to work on. Only anger.

A man sitting on the side of the street howled and his voice exploded into one, unstoppable wheeping, which later brought an avalanche of deep, almost animalistic cry. Bucky tried to fight it, but he knew, like nothing before, that it must be his heart melting.


	2. First Chapter

A sudden heart rush. The man jerked and gasped for air, just to taste the stench of himself and something familiar, too familar to skip. He moved awkwardly, getting used to all the hurts he has developed. He touched his own face, and groaned quietly. Blood, his own blood.

He closed his eyes for two seconds, just to maintain a so-so inner peace. It was just a nosebleed. They warned him about some side effects. One of THEM told him in a secret... Long time ago...

Bucky blinked, trying to assess where the hell he was. He started to be affraid of his own mind, that the brainwashing and all these... circumstances, maybe they just drove him staright into a mad house and he was being stripped to a stretcher. Just hallucinating all this. A stretcher could be so much more familair.

Voices and noises from not that far awoke his inner soldier. These were no hallucinations, not this time. Hallucinations were telling him things directly.

Bucky crouched when a police car stopped at an old, lonely house at the other side of the street. Until now he didin't realize how much exposed he was. Emotions totally took away all the best he kept in himself.

At least his unconcious mind was smart enough to withdraw from the direct light of the street lamp. He was lurking in the shadows, close to some forgotten bushes. How far did he walk since he left Smithsonian? Wasn't that just less than an hour? He couldn't remember. Bucky shook his head in a slight disapproval.

„What a fool." He would say to himself but his ears focused to hear a bits of important words.

An older, chubby woman came out to greet the policemen standing in the sharp lights of a car. They've been chatting for a moment now. Bucky narrowed his eyes when she pointed almost directly from where he was watching.

„That's the spot officer..." She said with gritty voice and raised it, obviously excited. „I swear, I've never heard anything like this! It was like a, like a - devil himself! Officer, you sure you don't want to call animal control?!"

The man hiding in the darkness sighed. So that what he has become now? An animal? He's been an animal, or maybe even less. All what was human was ripped off his soul countless times. He fought, god knows that he fought. Always to the last moment before passing out.

Bucky moved his head abruptly to the side and squeezed his eyelids almost shut. Not now, not now!

Zola, Rogers, some importantly - looking Russian man of a name he couldn't remember. Faces of people he never knew or wasn't supoposed to recognise anymore flew into his inner eye without any warning.

A needle in his organic arm. „It won't hurt." A soft voice lying.

The soldier muffled his own scream. Did they hear it? He was weak, he needed help... help? He winced at this odd word, he just remembered...

Barely seeing where he was going, Bucky rushed through the bushes on all fours. It should not be happening like this! He was wanted. He forgot about his... mission? He should keep a low profile!

If they won't find him, thay may find blood... The nosebleed felt pretty bad. Bucky shook his head to chase way a sudden dizziness.

„Who the hell is Bucky?" He mumbled, not aware how faint his own voice was.

Shrubs cut his face when he pushed with his bionic arm to break an obstacle on his way. He kept on tasting more blood. Mixed noises from outside of his head sounded bad. As if there were people behind him. Yes... the police men... Pulsating pressure inside of his ears became almost unbearable.

„You! Don't move!" A sharp voice hurt him. Just now he noticed a big stain of light and a shadow of messy hair on the grass in front of himself.

He froze, all his instincts switching on instantly.

He's just one – thought the soldier. One man with a weak gun. Bucky tasted blood coming down from his nose, and maybe gums.

He had to fight.


	3. The Run

„Hands on your head! Now!"

Bucky sprung onto his feet so fast that the force of landing dazed him. Trained body didin't care. A simple reach, grab on the elbow. The gun landed in his right hand. Left hand squeezed tightly the enemy's limb. Crack. Muffled moan of the cop.

The soldier blinked hard when the world whirled for a second. Kick. A loud groan. A weight of a limp body hanging in his steel grab. A thud of a body falling to the ground. He didin't even look.

„Freeze!" A panicked voice of the other _target..._ no.

Bucky didin't freeze. He raised the gun in a split second, aiming where the other _target... _figure was sticking out in the twilight of the street lamp.

A violent light suddenly striked his tired eyes. Bucky staggered, when an ache from the past exploded in his brain.

„You know you can trust me, Buck..." The voice sounded familiar and vicious in the same time.

No!.. Not now!

He pulled the trigger. He heard a gun fire from the other side and a new, very real pain pierced his left arm instantly. He moaned, as the old woman screamed. Blinding light dissapeared. He fought the instinct of grabbing the wound. He had to hold the gun. Always hold a working gun, when in alert.

He winced as the pain from the wound started turning into fast agonazing ache, as the bullet kept on breaking through the arm. Exactly between the living tissue and bionic connectors. Right in the feedback nerve system.

Bucky felt a strange need to curse his own clumsiness, as the metallic arm wriggled and twisted, like an eel. It just reinforced the pain.

The woman screamed once again, this time from a larger distance. The soldier goraned, and slowly managed to hide the gun in a holster he kept under the sweatshirt, just in case. And how lucky he was... a new gun.

The pain didn't stop. The _general _ wouldn't appreciate this _misfotunate _mission. He always _called_ him an _asset. _Or maybe he just imagined that...

Bucky sniffed and tasted sweet blood of his own. He completely forgot about the nosebleed. There was no _general, _no_ orders. _

No_ safehouse._

Weak and twisted, he had a thought... just a glimpse of himself, tasting the gun and pulling the trigger.

How many times he desired to do that? They never let him! They made him forget of his own will, own desires. What year it was? Was the war over? Why he felt that Steve is the only person he could trust? Because Steve just... gave up?

Bucky didn't even notice how far he ran into the darkness of a forest.

When wounded and no _staff_ around,_ procede according to the self-help instructions..._

„Remove the bullet and stop the bleeding." Recited bucky with half- conscious whisper. His head swaying and eyes almost closed. His limp back resting on a tree. His weak right arm raised for a few seconds, the left one still twiching a little, servo-mechanisms fighting for self-repair. Right hand hit the gound. He listened to an almost soothing sound of moving metal.

Dull eyes froze in the emptiness.

The forest was quiet, Bucky suddenly cought a glimpse of stars and gasped. He forgot about the stars. Of course he kept in mind scattered remains of missions during the night. But he was never sure if it was a dream. He never knew if a mission was his first or the last... _You are changing the course of history. We believe in you..._

„Aaaaaargghhh!" A dull scream scared off a few night-hunting animals.

The arm stopped twitching. A bird rocketed out from his right, rustling the leaves. Bucky saw a dark, winged contour for a moment. And then the pain stopped, something warm and wet flew down his chest.

His heart flickered with a spark of happiness for a second, as he thought he'll be free finally.


	4. Bucky is Back

He was suffocating. A panicked twitch moved his whole chest, metal arm reached and grabbed something in the darkness.

A muffled groan.

There was some kind of a noise around him. At least four other people. The body he was holding struggled as other arms tried to tie him down.

His eyelids heavy as lead. Just like after brain-wiping sessions... He won't let them this time!

„Sedative, quick!"

„Bastard will kill him! Move it!"A voice shouted just next to his head.

Oh yes, bastard will kill him... if it's necessary... Bucky smirked with wild satisfaction, when he realized that even blind he dominates everybody. Heaviness in his chest reduced a bit.

He punched blindly with his right arm, feeling hard tissues crushing under his knuckles.

Time to start kicking.

With a wild roar rising in his stifled chest, he pushed himself forward but an unexpected force pinned him down. He released a dull grunt. As if he was just a weakling like... _Steve_...

„Buck! Calm down! It's me, Steve!"

_But Steve was just a small..._

The soldier roared again at the top of his lungs, hopelessy fighting his way out of the strong embrace.

„Now doctor, now!" A familiar, slightly concerned tone. He _remembered_ it...

Bucky felt a pinch on his organic arm and a wave of relaxation went up through his body. He could not help but to become almost totally limp. He gave up...

„Who the hell are you?" Asked the voice that he heard first.

„Steve Rogers, Capitan America... and my team. We're taking over your patient."

„B-but... who the hell is that savage?"

Steel plier grab let him go and Bucky opened his eyes with a flutter.

He saw a blue sky. The air tasted fresh

…

„My name is Bucky..." His own voice sounded foreign and very confused. He looked at the mirror of an ass-cheap motel bathrom, far from any big city...

Pale face, tired, slightly empty eyes, uneaven bristle on his face.

He didn't find resources or time to shave, after he escaped.


End file.
